Snowfall
by Bredhlaf Swelgend
Summary: Modern oneshot. Merlin reflects on his old enemies in a museum at midnight. Brace yourself for loads of snow, ice, and flakes.


**A/N: Hello, readers! This is my first fanfiction, just saying, so if you see anything wrong just let me know. This is most likely confusing, so, to clarify, this is modern-day Merlin in a museum. It's sort of like when [Doctor Who spoilers maybe] Amy woke up from her sleep in the pandorica and listened to the audio recording of 'The Lonely Centurion', and since Merlin's, well, Merlin, he should be able to be in a museum at midnight. Right? Also, this is presenting a new concept- Merlin, in his grief, cursed Mordred and Morgana, so now their souls are in a sort of dismal paradise keeping the Earth from aging with their music. Violin-playing Mordred... Alexander Vlahos would look sort of silly playing a violin the way I'm imagining it, to be honest. Anyways, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I remembered to tell you guys that I'm Julian Murphy and I ended the show just so I could write fanfictions. Pffft, you would get ten or more series if I even were a producer of Merlin.**

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"A brunette in a furry dress carried a black case through the snowy forest. At last, she came upon a snow-blanketed glade, where little flakes drifted down into the sparkling clearing. The brunette tossed aside her case into the woods where she hoped never to see it again, for useless it was to her now that she had arrived where she hoped to be. Soon enough, her footprints in the snow were once again blanketed heavily by the tiny flakes of frozen water. Of course, before throwing the useless black case into the bushes she took out what was within- her violin.

"The light instrument was lifted to fit comfortably under her slender and pale neck, the bow in her other hand, poised to play. As soon as she began to play her quickly paced and gentle melodies, her feet began to twirl, her body flowing and bending through the falling snow. She drew out the notes and plucked at the strings, the violin being the only noise piercing the silence of snowfall. As another of her songs ended, a second violin was heard.

"A black-haired boy strode in, playing along on his violin to accompany the tunes being played by the dancing woman. Whatever sounded best on his violin he played, and the harmonies of the tunes began to thrum within their ears. As the woman pranced merrily through the white of the glade, the boy played in the shadows with the rich tone of his own improvised tunes. It could not be told whether it was day nor night, but on and on she danced, and on and on he played. The entrancing notes passed the time without bothering to pause, for the clouds dimmed the sun enough that it was somewhat dark, and the moon was bright enough to give the same light as the sun through the clouds which obscured the pure lights.

"The snow continued to fall, and in its own manner, swirled along with the music. The flakes flew this way and that, swinging up a bit then falling, swirling around kicked up snow. The winds flung the ice against each other in a violent clash towards the middle of the clearing, then stopped abruptly to fly out in an explosion. Frost began to gather on the boughs of trees, blossoms that would've come early shrunk within itself, and on and on the woman played. Dramatic music and instrumental tunes filled the air, but none dared disturb the woman and boy's playing. Occasional, imaginary tapping could be heard and the snowfall paused just a second to synchronize itself with the music. As the music grew more quickly paced, the snow rapidly flung itself in all directions, pausing abruptly and falling as though the spirit had gone from a living human.

"The storm began to descend, a blizzard forming around the pale beings. The boy played on, however, the snow that fell upon the violin were scooped violently away by the bow or the pale and calloused fingers that plucked and danced over the strings. Never once did the two falter in their melodies, and yet never did another intelligent being disturb them. It remained snowing throughout the summers and springs that came upon the world, for this dance was eternal- once every tune possibly played was indeed played upon the two violins, they would repeat- and the life of the world would not dare to retreat into itself, the sun would not lay a hostile finger upon the heart of music, for the sacred melodies played could not be ignored, as each one held its own magic and life. The string of notes would not be easily ignored, and the two continued on until the end of the world- which would be never as long as the Earth would hear the music created from its own materials shaped into instruments to produce such wonderful notes."

The man gazed intently at the illustration of a fair maiden dancing in a snow-covered forest, her eyes seeming sad as she twirled and the young boy who played in the background, his eyes filled with a fiery passion and determination to achieve something that seemed so impossible to him. The man was filled with guilt as he stared into the picture, knowing that he had created this. The book still presented the story to him with its open covers, as if to say, 'You cannot change what has already been done into something that never happened' and his gut screamed at him. His cerulean eyes still bore into the book's pages of the story of the eternal dance. Pain raged throughout the man's heart, but he knew that they would not brood- the two would never be freed from their endless music. They would play on and on until the Sun dared to touch their sacred sanctuary of music, and even then, were it to ever happen, the Earth would still spin, yet no longer suspended in time by the enchantment of the music.

Still, the raven-haired man would not allow his heart to torment him. His mixed emotions had caused much suffering on his part before, and to do so again would be foolish, considering the number of times it had happened. Grief, fury, and fear had often enough been the end of many innocents- if there were those who wished to be immortalized, to bathe in eternal splendor and wealth, then they would have the peace and luxury they wished.

They would bathe in the splendor of beauty for all eternity, suspended in time and become rich with fame in folklore, myth, and legend- never again would their hearts be lifted from the bland home they had wished themselves.

After serious consideration, the man shut the book. These events had happened centuries ago- besides, the two villains had deserved it. After all, the boy had killed Arthur and the woman brought about the age of doom. Besides, what was a story if there was no happy ending?

…no story at all to tell, if the heroes are killed and the villain victorious, and triumphant be they who conquered, as a new era declares the heroes the villains and the villains the hero. Why would he leave their souls connected to the Earth if he felt no need to do so? It certainly wasn't his business, to save the two that had given the man so much trouble.

…and the man turned away, ignoring the one fragment of guilt that still lay within him, preventing him from reaching true peace.

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**A/N: So, how was that? I was listening to Lindsey Stirling (Crystallize), a dubstep-violinist, while I wrote this. It was a while ago, and I just thought that it would be fun to do. I hope you liked it!**

-BS


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